


How He Met Your Mother (or, How Adrian Declared She Hated Cullen and Thea Made Millions in the Resulting Betting Pool)

by PaigeStaves



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Anxiety Disorder, Chronic Illness, Disability, Disabled Character, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamorous Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Character, invisible illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeStaves/pseuds/PaigeStaves
Summary: Adrian and Thea share the mark, after being torn from their world and into Thedas. Outsiders, and suddenly very central to the survival of this new realm, they rely on their steadfast friendship to carry them through and home.Adrian declares that Commander Cullen Rutherford is insufferable, and Thea makes a bet with Varric on when they hook up. Sera gets involved, and over time a betting pool grows and expands.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 5
Collections: Two Inquisitors One Brain Cell





	1. Haven Falls

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to insert chapters before this one, but we'll see how this works. I'm new. Thanks for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian and Thea face Corypheus for the first time, and the only thing that carries them through is anger, spite, and stubbornness, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not writing this in order, because I have a wayward attention span. So, uh, apologies.

The Commander turned to the Heralds. Adrian was panting, leaning against their glaive, and Thea’s hands were in her hair, staring wide-eyed into nothing.

“Heralds,” the Commander said.

Both focused on him.

He continued, “There is no strategy that makes this survivable.”

His grim expression was mirrored on Adrian. Thea looked from his face to the rest of the present companions.

“Wha—what is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, casting about.

She could see Adrian’s mind whirling behind their eyes, and the Commander watched them think as well.

“The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the trebuchets for one last slide,” Cullen suggested.

Adrian’s eyes, hard with determination, snapped to his. But then he saw panic, as they looked to Thea.

Regarding their companion, Adrian said, “We would bury Haven.”

They looked back to the Commander, who stepped towards them.

“We’re dying,” he explained, “but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

Thea’s stomach dropped. She was not ready for that—not that anyone really was, but she knew that Adrian would not flinch at the suggestion, and some other option had to be available. There was always another option. They just needed to stop and think. Time to think. Which they did not have.

The boy, Cole, was hunched and murmuring something next to the clergyman that Thea never bothered to remember. She strode over to them, passing between Adrian and the Commander.

Cullen saw agreement in Adrian’s expression, and he savored the poetry that the only time they managed to agree with him was in their mutual destruction—but that was not fair of him. He knew that they understood the stakes, the cost. Just like they all did.

“Yes,” Cole murmured, looking to the back of the Chantry.

Thea knelt beside him.

“What is it? You have an idea?”

Cole faced Thea, and she had a hard time focusing on his face.

“Chancellor Roderick has an idea. He wants to tell you before he dies,” the boy said.

Thea felt a shiver run down her spine. The boy’s voice was hollow. Not empty, but hollow.

The chancellor wheezed through his injuries, telling them of a walking path used during the summer pilgrimage. It was small and difficult to find unless you knew the way. He lurched forward in his seat, grasping Thea’s shoulder.

“The people can escape,” he gasped, “She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me… so I could… tell you.”

His wide eyes drilled desperation into Thea’s own, and she shook internally at the rawness of his emotion.

“She must have,” she whispered back, trying to calm the man whose grip was unexpectedly rough on her shoulder.

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start—it was overgrown.”

Thea’s vision was filled with his pale, worn face. It was etched deep in fear and faith. She would later reflect that the rawness—the desperation and need—shook her deeply, as it echoed down to her own heart and her own sense of deficiency. It was a face that would haunt her. She managed to break his grip on her, and she backed away.

He turned to the rest of them.

“I am the only left alive to remember.”

They stared. He swung around to Thea again.

“If this simple memory can save us, then this may not be mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

Thea’s mouth was drawn into a taught line. She exchanged a meaningful look with Adrian that Cullen read as concern. The two Heralds knew each other well enough to know that its meaning was closer to _We Are Absolutely Fucked._

Adrian spoke, “Cullen, can you get them out?”

Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been thrown by the use of his given name by them of all people, but he did not notice until they were long parted.

“Possibly. If we can find the p—them? What of your escape?”

Adrian swallowed hard and looked at Thea again, who cocked her head in a way Adrian understood.

“It’s here for us,” Adrian said, meeting the Commander’s gaze, “We’ll man the trebuchets, and then… we’ll buy as much time as we can.”

Thea nodded somberly.

Cullen appeared taken aback. His voice faltered.

“Perhaps… you will surprise it. Find a way…” he trailed off, unconvinced of his own words, but unwilling to admit to the inevitable.

Thea whispered, “Perhaps.”

Adrian’s mouth opened, unsure as to how to apologize. Instead, they moved to Thea and hugged her close, wordless. Thea returned the embrace.

“We can do this,” Adrian whispered to her.

When they broke apart, they both knew that Adrian was not speaking about survival. Cullen coughed roughly and began to bark orders to the survivors. The strange boy supported the weight of the chancellor, and the Heralds watched them leave.

The Heralds were covered in blood, gore, and ashes. Adrian’s bellow sent Varric and Solas flying back to the gates and hopefully to safety. Thea hefted herself up from vomiting on the snow, bow in hand—its bladed limbs glinting in the firelight that flickered through the wreckage around them. As Adrian turned, they saw a tall figure move in the smoke.

“Thea,” Adrian called, jogging to her side.

The two watched in horror as a mottled body, twisted around red lyrium spikes, strode from the billowing ashes. Adrian took a step forward, swinging their glaive around to a ready position, but was knocked off balance by Thea, who gripped their armor and pulled. Whipping around, Adrian saw a dark dragon pounce to cut off their rear escape. Adrian’s breath caught in their throat, and their eyes went wild and wide. Fear became more than Adrian had ever felt, as their senses sharpened, and time seemed to slow. Their mind spun furiously. Thea gripped to Adrian’s armor, frozen. Adrian felt for her and pushed her back behind them, as the dragon filled their vision. It opened its maw and screeched into their faces, then tipped back and wailed to the sky. Adrian felt their lips curl in a snarl, taking in every detail. They knew they were beyond fear. They could not run, and they did not know if they could fight, but Adrian did know that they could scream back at death, that they would never go quietly.

Adrian heard a sob behind them and kept an arm back to steady Thea. Anger and indignation brought life back to Adrian’s lungs. They sucked in a deep breath.

“Enough!” the twisted creature shouted at the dragon, and the beast backed down.

He turned his attention to the Heralds.

“Pretenders, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Adrian roared.

They gave Thea a firm shake as they swore at the creature, hoping to jar her back to the present. The door Adrian had closed to the rage they felt at being torn from their family, their friends, their world—how they would never see their brother again, never the sky nor stars they loved like sisters, not the lakes and rocks and mashed potato hills of boreal, _their_ boreal, how they were torn away from a world on the hinge of change—change that _Adrian_ had poured their life into helping—all of it gone. And the rage that sat for a year flooded their body.

“ _You colossal piece of shit! Shut the fuck up!_ ” A burst of psychic force emanated from Adrian, but it only barely made the creature twitch.

He snarled at them, “Brutes. Dull and dense. What utter failures you are.”

Adrian pointed their glaive at him, and swore, “I will kill you, in this life or the next. I will. Kill. You.”

“Familiar words,” he drawled, “Once they were mine. They are—”

“I don’t _fucking_ care!”

The creature’s face contorted in anger.

“Know me,” he said to them, “Know what you pretend to be.”

Adrian shouted, “What, a scab on legs? Know _me_ , what you could _never_ be!”

Words sprawled out of them, and Adrian knew it was the rage. They had no delusions of their peril, but by whatever gods governed this place, they were _damned_ if they let him have his glory. They felt Thea’s fingers dig into their armor strongly, and they gripped tighter to Thea with their one hand, the glaive still poised in front.

The creature’s voice reached a terrifying timbre, as he commanded, “You will exalt in the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.”

“ _NO!_ ” Thea shouted. She trembled but her denial came harsh and quick.

Adrian could not help but smile wide, as they clung together.

“You will kneel,” Corypheus said, pointing at them.

Thea held tight to Adrian and found a bitter courage, yelling, “They couldn’t make me kneel in church, and I won’t start for you!”

Adrian threw back their head and laughed at the absurdity of their situation.

“You resist. You will always resis—” Corypheus began.

“That’s _fucking_ right!” Thea shrieked. Adrian beamed.

Corypheus simply ignored them, producing an orb that crackled with red energy.

“I am here for the Anchors. The process of removing them begins now.”

He lashed an arm out, jagged magic whipping at the Heralds. The glowing marks on their hands lashed open, sending rippling pain up their arms. Thea fell to her knees, and Adrian followed. The creature ranted about rituals interrupted and the purpose of the marks, but Adrian’s focus was on the dragon that was circling closer. They wanted to know which direction their death would come from.

“And you used my Anchors to undo my work. The gall,” he drawled.

That was exactly what Adrian needed in the moment. They pushed through the spikes of white-hot pain in their hand to form a fist with a single finger raised. 

Corypheus strode to them and lifted Adrian by the left arm—the hand that glowed with the mark. Adrian’s mouth ran dry. They felt Thea leap to her feet and grab hold of her again. They could feel Thea pulling at her body, heard shouts and weeping. But all Adrian knew was the disfigured face before her that continued to talk. He spoke of gods and Tevinter and blight.

“I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was _empty_ ,” he finished, flinging Adrian in anger.

Thea ran after. Adrian hit the trebuchet, falling to their stomach. Righting themself, Adrian grabbed at a discarded sword. Thea reached them and helped them to their feet, before shrieking in fear at the dragon that approached with hunger in its beady eyes. The creature continued to monologue, and Adrian cast about for anything that they could use. In doing so, they just managed to cast the sight of the tail of a flare fading into the distance. Haven was clear.

Corypheus declared their death sentence.

“You talk too much,” Adrian spat and kicked the lever release of the trebuchet.

The chains rattled, as a boulder flung to the mountain side like a prayer to heaven. Adrian pulled Thea to her feet and yelled at her to run. Not letting go of Thea or the sword, Adrian bolted. Thea quickly found her feet, and panic drove her on. The Heralds heard the dragon scream and take off in flight, but they did not pause. They did not know where they were going, only following each other through the chaos. It was a natural feeling.

It wasn’t long before a rush of wind pushed them off balance. Adrian and Thea tumbled into darkness, deafened by the roar of the avalanche.

Thea woke first, again. It was familiar, like the first time she woke in Thedas to find Adrian unconscious and seizing. She tried to call their name, but it rasped painfully from her throat. Her body ached, and there were some points in her wrist and ribs that felt like they could be broken. She assessed the wreckage around her. She had fallen into a tunnel exposed by the skirmish and had been sealed in by the avalanche. Wood and burlap had crashed around her, and she realized that she had been lying in a pile of makeshift splints. Thea would have made a joke about how the world was her first aid kit, but Adrian—

—she began to look for Adrian and found them unconscious but not buried. Their head twitched to the right, and Thea’s stomach lurched in fear. Emotion piled on top of her. Thea turned and vomited. Wiping her mouth, with tears pouring down her face, she tapped her thigh and counted until she could breathe normally again. Thea kneeled and began to assess Adrian, trying to visualize them as just another patient.


	2. Finding Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heralds thaw out, and Cullen decides to repress More Emotions.

Neither body shivered anymore. Both wavered on the edge of consciousness. Adrian cast their mind through their body, digging for any sliver of strength left over. They could not feel their limbs, but they could sense the buzz of the Anchor. They pushed their will into the buzzing. Through flickering eyelids, Adrian saw the green flash brightly. They could not tell how high it flashed, but it would have to be enough.

Adrian lost their sense of time as they focused on pulsing their whole self into the green flashes. They hoped that Thea carried on, that Thea was signalling as well, that Thea had thought of something, that she persisted in some way.

Shapes broke up Adrian’s blurred view. They felt the world pitch and tilt, heard rough voices. Emotion bubbled up and Adrian’s focus on the green flash cut off. Their face was pressed against something that was decidedly not snow. The pressure from the arms that carried them sent spiderwebs of pain through their body, and Adrian saw the outline of themself. They tried to open their mouth to call for Thea, but their throat was far too dry. The taste of metal dripped over Adrian’s tongue. They felt their muscles begin to seize, and they gave over to oblivion.

They had to excavate the Heralds from the rapidly falling snow. Cullen was not the first to reach them, but he hefted the body of Adrian in his arms. He tucked their head into the warmth of the lion mane mantle. Their body jerked and seized, and he saw Adrian’s eyes roll back into their head. They were unconscious.

“Bull!” he shouted through the wind.

The hulking mass of the Iron Bull approached with the limp form of Thea curled in his arms.

“Thank the Maker,” he breathed.

“I’ve got her!” the Iron Bull roared.

A mage coated the Heralds in blue light, positioning herself between the Commander and the Iron Bull for their trek back to camp.

Thea sat on Adrian’s cot in the open section of the makeshift infirmary. Adrian insisted on the fresh air, not sure if they could handle laying in the stifling tent any longer. Instead, they were propped up on a cot with a special blend of potch from Thea steaming in a mug. Together, they watched the war council teeter on the edge of another explosive argument. Adrian’s mind drifted as Mother Giselle engaged Thea in conversation. They watched the two walk to the edge of the shelter.

When the war council fell into a tense silence, Mother Giselle began to sing. Thea and Adrian exchanged curious looks. Her voice was rich and deep, and it sent out to the tents, carried far by the cold air. Leliana’s high, clear voice joined in, followed by many of the soldiers. Adrian did not want to miss out and eased themself out of bed to limp precariously next to Thea. Wrapped in a blanket, Adrian met Thea’s assessing gaze with a smirk and a head tilt. Thea shrugged. Adrian’s eyes found the Commander, who looked at the singing officers around him. Emotion broke over his brow, and his eyes closed as joined the verse. As his voice raised, Adrian kept their face neutral—something in his voice and face stirred a dormant anguish in Adrian’s core. They looked down to the snow, heart aching for a lost piety.

When the hymn ended, Cullen opened his eyes to see tears streaming from Adrian’s own.

The Heralds had recovered from another close brush with death. They were mounted on horses and ready to continue the trek through the mountain pass. Adrian had promised Thea that they would tell her if they needed a break, and in return, Thea had agreed to full bowls of soup at mealtimes. The mountain pass was precarious and hard, but the Heralds took turns at either end of the convoy of refugees, making sure no one else was stuck or left behind in the snow.

At night, when they made camp, Adrian would stay with their mount for a little longer than necessary. They knew that the stable keeps would be looking after them, but they heard their dad’s voice in their head.

 _Grab it by the joint_ , they heard, bending and grabbing the horse’s leg as a signal.

The mount lifted its hoof, and Adrian caught it, resting it on their thigh. They brushed the snow off and began to clean. The hooves were perfectly fine, but Adrian talked to their dad while they went through the motions. They spoke out loud in a low murmur, telling the horse about how their dad taught them how to care for creatures like itself.

Adrian would brush its mane but left the coat alone. They did not want to shed any of its hair, not even a little bit, not in this cold. But Adrian made sure to massage it at the base of its mane.

 _They do this in their herds. It’s a nice hello,_ their dad had said. _Our hands are like their mouths. Pay attention to how they brush at each other._

Adrian threw themselves at caring for their mount. It felt immediate and controllable. This is how the Commander found them, brushing out the tangled tail of their horse. 

“Herald,” he said stiffly.

Adrian briefly looked up, then returned their attention to the tangles.

“Commander,” they replied.

Cullen cleared his throat to cover his discomfort. He remembered how their skin felt like cold clay, how their frame looked so much smaller and more frail curled in the snow. It frightened him how fragile the fate of his whole world had been in that moment. He had no idea what they all would have done if the bearers of the marks had been lost.

He attempted lightheartedness: “The stable keeps will be out of their jobs if you keep this up.”

The Herald’s mouth tightened.

They replied, “Keeps me busy.”

Cullen thought back to how he pressed them close, careful not to scrape or damage their frozen skin. He had been desperate to hold on to them. Cullen found that he been genuinely thankful for the presence of the mages, who were able to insulate and stabilize the Heralds. But this is something he would never admit to anyone but himself.

“You are well?” he asked.

“I am,” Adrian replied.

Adrian paused uncomfortably.

Cullen nodded.

“Good,” he said.

The Commander ground his teeth and turned to leave.

“I’m told that you found us,” Adrian said, brushing the tail.

Cullen turned back to them.

“I can’t take all the credit. Bull saw the lights. I simply picked the right search party to be in.”

“How humble of you,” Adrian murmured, “And thank you. That would not have been my ideal death if I’m being honest.”

Cullen huffed a laugh, “I should think not.”

He was at a loss. Informality was not something he was built for, while Adrian slipped into familiarity like a second skin. He was reluctant to admire them for it, as he had chastised their previous _lack_ of formality.

“So long as you are simply busying yourself, and not, er…” he faltered.

“Taxing myself unnecessarily?” Adrian smirked, keeping their eyes on the tail.

“Ah…”

“You sound like Thea,” they smiled. “I assure you I am taking things as easy as I can. Unless this tail just refuses to detangle. Honestly, I just don’t know what this horse _does_ to it.”

Almost as if in response, the horse shifted its weight and raised its tail.

“Oh, no,” Adrian hissed, jumping out of the way, as the horse began to relieve itself.

Cullen full belly laughed.

Adrian addressed the horse directly.

“Well! Live with a tangled tail then!”

They chucked the brush into a bucket, laughing at their futile attempt to make the tail pretty in the middle of a mountain pass.

“I have heard good things about your horsemanship, but I must say I’m not sure even Dennet could have avoided such a protest,” Cullen teased.

Adrian patted the flank of the horse.

“So, you’ve been talking about my horsemanship, eh,” they teased back.

The Commander tripped over his words again. Adrian enjoyed pushing him off balance. He was so properly put together. It was like brushing a cat the wrong way, except Adrian would never do that to a cat.

“I’ve heard tales of your exploits from the officers,” he managed.

It felt good to Adrian, this pattern of pushing on each other. It kept the memories at bay—the ones they had not been able to consolidate into their reality. Near-death: one more trauma for the records. At least Adrian could add the interesting footnote of megalomaniac god-complex to this one.

“You know me, Commander, I strive for infamy.”

He smiled—the Commander genuinely smiled at Adrian, and they made a mental note to mark the date. They wanted to be able to send him a cake annually to remind him.

The two strode back to the Inner Circle tents. Adrian saw Cullen visibly relax as they settled into a tit-for-tat exchange of snark. They could tolerate this new side of the Commander, and they wondered that all they had to do was drag him through a frigid hell to see it. Adrian felt as if they now had an extra excuse to call him on his foul moods. _Remember how human you were? Do that again._

Adrian bid him farewell and entered the tent they shared with Thea.

“Did you know that the Commander does not _always_ have a stick up his ass?”

Thea turned with a baffled expression.

“Um, hello? How are you? What happened?”

Adrian recounted the exchange they had. Thea made a mental note to adjust odds with Varric.

As Cullen stared at the tent roof, incapable of sleep once again, he allowed a small corner of himself to peer blatantly at his fear: if the Heralds had died, Thedas would be in grave danger; but if Adrian died…

He did not want to finish the thought—not because it was unbearable, but because the implications were untenable. Instead, he slipped to the side of the knowledge he would not let himself give words to, and he let himself feel relief until it started to feel too close to something more vulnerable. Then, he turned over to his side, away from that brand of danger.

Later, much later, when the Heralds would heft the ceremonial swords that signalled their elevation to Inquisitors, Cullen would feel a certainty and a determination set decisively into place. It was unmoveable, that feeling that was too close to something vulnerable. He would channel it into the Inquisition: its readiness, its solidity, its ability to defend and protect. It was one thing for an _Inquisitor_ to dally with an associate, but it would be fiercely improper for that associate to be on the war council, where emotions meant changes in decision-making. However, he did not put this to words. The Commander did what he was accustomed to doing: assume that this was the end of any potential discussion and cut off that budding emotion before it could possibly develop into anything substantial and complicated.

Unfortunately for the Commander, it was an interesting but ultimately futile attempt.


	3. Get Some Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian begins with a demand that the Commander get some rest, but ends with the tables *somewhat* turned.

The goddamn man was running himself ragged. He always had bags under his eyes. His sleep issues had not ever been lost on Adrian. But it was getting ridiculous. He was haggard and frenetic, and Adrian suspected that he had the same issue that they did: that he needed to feel like he was making an impact after experiencing such a profound loss of control.

He heard Adrian’s approach and turned to face them. He knew from the last meeting of the war council that this conversation was coming. Adrian, now one of the two _Inquisitors_ , had a distaste hiding their opinions, and he had noted the scolding look they had given his repeated yawns. He had skirted their comments, but he knew it only delayed the inevitable cornering.

The last scout ran to their next task, leaving Cullen and Adrian at the table beside the tents in the courtyard. There were many repairs to be made, and the Commander had not prioritized his own office or accommodations. There were simply too many things for him to do to make sure that the old fortress was up to snuff, and having an office was not one of the pressing needs on his list. He braced himself.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted.

“Commander,” they nodded, “anything new to report?”

“Skyhold is remarkable, and its fortifications have remained quite sturdy. We are still waiting on supply trains, but I have troops on hunts and forages into the valley. We’ve been able to stock the kitchen and round up enough supplies for some of the more urgent repair needs. For a mountaintop fortress, there is a substantial amount of debris built up. This place must have been empty for an incredibly long time,” he said.

He sighed, “We did as best we could in Haven, but it was a chantry with a small hamlet. Nothing that could have prepared for an archdemon attack, or whatever that thing was. I mean, with warning… with something… we might have…”

He trailed off, throat tightening at the memory of Adrian’s gaze utterly boring into his in the chantry before he led the escape. The certainty in their face. The sick relief that came with the avalanche and the dismay at watching the creature fly off, not knowing if the Inquisition’s hopes had survived.

Adrian’s current face was one he was more than familiar with: it was the sturdy set of a decision that had been made, and a decision with which he had better become comfortable. Instead of the usual dread, he felt nervous. Something in the way they were looking at him made him feel as if they could see into his private thoughts.

Adrian was examining his features as he spoke. There was incredible exhaustion, as expected, and that grasping for control they knew so well within themself, but there was also another familiar aspect—he was haunted.

Adrian did not _hear_ whispers. They _felt_ them, like the slip of fish against skin. They _saw_ them, like one would see memories. Solas has said that these were likely helpful spirits of the Fade or echoes of people themselves, dreamlike aftershocks of emotion that still shimmered around bodies. It was not like Cole, who could strip your whole self out of you and spit it back up in fragments. No, but it was also more than _inklings_ and _intuition_.

They also knew when someone in their proximity was close to death. It was not a fun feeling for Adrian, but it gave them and Cole something to talk about.

Cullen had something in him that _bothered_ Adrian. It was not just the fear-based prejudices or the starched way he approached their interactions. Something itched at the back of Adrian’s head when he was around, and it was frustrating as all hell. Something tangled emanated from him. He needed to fix something, and Adrian would be bothered until he did.

Besides all of that, Adrian suspected that he suffered from what was called battle sickness in Thedas. He never flinched in combat, but Adrian had borne the brunt of his foul moods more than enough times to catch the shift in expression, that movement from rational anger to _fight or flight_. In Adrian’s own history, it was post-traumatic stress. If Adrian had to recover in order to stop being a total asshole, then so did the Commander of an international military force.

And if Adrian knew anything at all, it was how to move a distressed animal. Apply the right pressure in the right places, easing off at the right moment, and the beast would either leave or trust. Either option would have suited Adrian just fine.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” they said, flatly.

Cullen bristled, “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.”

Adrian responded quickly, with authoritative monotone, “Haven was a single church in a forest, _as you said_. Skyhold is a fortress on a mountain. We will be ready. It suits no one to have you compromised due to exhaustion. From what you tell me, we’ll be on track in a week—without your unnecessary over-working.”

Frustration mounted in the Commander. The Inquisitor just did not understand that he _needed_ to do this.

“I know you think you _need_ to do this,” they said, infuriating him more. He simply gripped the hilt on which his hand rested.

Adrian softened.

“But what _I_ need,” they implored, “is a Commander whose mind is sharp, not one who is falling asleep in meetings.”

Cullen inwardly cursed the way they slipped from infuriating to entreating and back again. He knew that Adrian had a point. A very good point. But he was still reluctant to concede, if only because of his own pride.

They pursed their lips.

“Commander, we had a discussion recently about my new role.”

“Indeed.”

“You assured me that the change in leadership would not be an issue for you.”

“That has not changed. My priority is the success of the Inquisition.”

“How many successful campaigns, military or otherwise, were won by exhaustion?”

Cullen ground his teeth, infuriated again. Adrian leaned forward slightly.

They murmured, “If I must go to sleep at a reasonable hour, then so must you.”

The Commander thought back to the early days in Haven, when Adrian had not-so-secretly consumed information at an alarming rate, with little sleep. Rumor had it that a potent combination of Varric and Inquisitor Thea had convinced them to rest and leave the people of Haven to their own rest as well.

He wanted badly to make a comment on how often he saw the Inquisitor on midnight walks or leaning from their balcony, when he himself could not lie down. But propriety held his tongue.

“Please, take a rest day.”

 _Please_.

Adrian had said _please_. Their eyes were honest and entreating. Cullen noticed then that they had also placed a hand on his forearm. He did not feel it through the gauntlet, but he saw the glow. Regret seeped into his gut. He had let his fear drive him—again.

Cullen nodded and let a small smile tug at his lips.

“You don’t stop, do you?” he asked.

Adrian feigned insult, clutching at their collarbone, “I stop all the time. I stop quite frequently, thank you very much.” They paused.

“I just don’t stop when it comes to pestering _you,”_ they smirked.

Heat flooded Cullen’s face, and he prayed it did not show.

He blurted out, “You have proven yourself.”

Adrian’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“As leaders, I mean, both of you,” he corrected. “It is not just a title I follow.”

The Inquisitor’s face became indecipherable.

“Thank you, Cullen,” they said.

His stomach flipped as his name slipped from Adrian’s lips. He could not recall any time the Inquisitor had used his given name. Or anything other than his title. Later, he would recognize the feeling as excitement, but in the moment, he simply focused on remaining undetected.

Adrian shifted on their feet. They chewed the inside of their cheek, and Cullen knew they had something more to say. He waited.

“When I saw the flare…” they started. Cullen’s chest gripped his heart tight at the memory of ordering its release. Adrian continued, “I knew we had made the right choice. We were… we were sure…”

They bit their cheek again and looked away briefly.

Meeting his eyes, Adrian said, “You should be proud of how you defended Haven. I saw you with the mages. It was incredible to see you work _with_ them. Turn their power onto… all of that. I’m glad you… were able to lead so many out.”

The Commander’s face became solemn and serious, catching Adrian’s gaze in a firm hold.

“As am I,” he said.

Adrian felt rocked. They knew that under that gaze, not much would be left for them to hide behind. Adrian had been so afraid, so ready to shout into the dragon’s maw as it tore them up, so ready to be suffocated by the snow, and so afraid to their very soul. They remembered how Thea had shivered, how Adrian tucked her fingers into their armpits to give her some more warmth, how Adrian tried so hard to make their limbs move against their damned paralysis, wrap them around Thea before the cold stole all of their function, until they just collapsed and could not get up again—

Cullen and Adrian had slipped into their own mid-range stares. The two shared a silence stuffed full of frozen moments that left bits and pieces of them shattered in new ways. Adrian shook themself from the memories’ grip and turned to leave.

Cullen spoke, stepping forward. Adrian closed their eyes to the softness of his tone, to something like care that wove through it.

“You stayed behind. You could have—” he said.

Very gently, almost impossibly so, he caught Adrian’s arm. They stopped as if he had yanked hard, and Adrian turned to see him very close. He had caught them in a vulnerable spot, and their face was as open as the sky that swallowed the mountain fortress. Adrian felt that they could not move.

He continued, low and with a promise, “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

Adrian knew that the Commander harbored an intensity that threatened to completely stun them, and now Adrian felt it to their bones. They believed him.

Recovering, Adrian’s mouth quirked into a half smile.

“Can’t do that without a good rest, now can you?” they whispered.

But the attitude could not reach their eyes, which is what Cullen still captured with his own. Finally, he saw a crack in Adrian. He recognized what he saw but refused to accept it as anything but his own projection. He _wanted_ Adrian to want a safety that he could provide—for the Inquisition, of course. So, it could only have been that fantasy—for the Inquisition, of course—that he saw reflected back in their wide grey eyes.

“I will do my best,” he murmured back.

He moved away from the Inquisitor, who nodded wordlessly and left him to his makeshift office space in the midst of the bustling courtyard.


	4. They are crested iris, and Adrian loves them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that borrowing-a-sweater trope, rearing its spicy head to complicate my feelings. 
> 
> Also, this really is incredibly anachronistic, and I DO hope the whiplash is not baaaad, and I apologize, but I am going to continue to add chapters in any order I want, because.... I wanna. 
> 
> Thank you sorry thank yooouu

Adrian shivered slightly. The air was so lovely after such a long winter, and they did not want to go back inside. A few stars still glittered through the bright light of the full moon. Adrian wondered what this galaxy looked like, which points in the sky were planets. They recited the names and tried to remember what seasons they were visible in and in what quarters of the sky. They heard a slight laugh and turned to see the Commander’s lopsided grin. It seemed that Adrian was not the only insomniac to want to take advantage of the warming nights.

They drawled sarcastically, “Really, we must stop meeting like this.”

Cullen nodded, “Indeed. What would Mother Giselle say if she could see us in the moonlight.”

Adrian cocked her head and grinned.

“You mean the gossip or the lecture?”

The Commander chuckled, walking closer. He kept his eyes on the flowers along the edges of the courtyard. The Inquisitor’s hair flowed in messy scraggles around their face, and they seemed to have rolled out of bed only moments before. Standing in their robe tied at the waist, clutched around their throat—it felt intimate to Cullen, and he did not know what his face would show if he looked directly at them.

“I was just,” Adrian sighed, “looking at the stars, or trying to.”

Cullen had not been to bed, and he still wore his armor. It was a night where he could not relax. He was not tense, but he did not feel fatigue and sitting made him restless. He examined a flower—small, intricate, and pale. He tried to think of something interesting to say that did not also make him obvious.

“Do you ever wonder… about going out there?” Adrian asked.

Cullen did look at them then, “Out there?”

They were looking up at the night sky. Adrian’s arms hugged themself, and they rubbed warmth into their upper arms.

“Yeah,” they continued, “like, out there. Other planets, other worlds. Ever wonder?”

When Adrian looked back at the Commander, he had an inscrutable expression that left them feeling examined. They felt a blend of defensiveness and embarrassment.

He took a deep breath.

“I can’t say I have. There hasn’t been a lot of opportunities to consider something like that.”

Cullen had frequently been frustrated with how Adrian could not seem to stop their mind from churning through so many things at once. But part of that frustration was with how fast he had to move to keep up.

Other worlds.

The only other world he ever paused to consider before they arrived was anything beyond the Veil. The Fade, and all the terrors that it held for him. How many worlds did they really know? He recalled Adrian and Solas speaking animatedly multiple times, but specifically about the stars. The Inner Circle has overtaken the tavern. It was a night for relaxation, and at the time he had rolled his eyes and left. But he remembered their face, the excited way they moved their hands to describe whatever it was they had been talking about. He regretted not staying to hear about it.

Cullen felt jealousy then—for the other members of the Inner Circle that got to see that excitement so often. He had tried not to be obvious with Cassandra, but it was difficult not to enjoy the stories she brought back of one or both Inquisitors. It was getting hard to continue to convince himself to keep his distance.

Adrian nodded, chewing their bottom lip in thought.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly.

“Hmm?” they responded, wide eyes flitting to his, eyebrows raised.

His heart pounded, as he slid off his lion mane mantle. The night air cooled his skin. He hadn’t noticed how warm he had gotten.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to them.

Adrian’s own pulse quickened at the softness in his voice. The damned velvet softness that they despised and adored and wished away to the bottom of the ocean, because at least then they would feel in control. Adrian pursed their lips. They did not _want_ to refuse. They chose to see this as a peace offering, even though peace between them had already been slowly brokered.

Adrian affected a desperate chilliness.

“Ah, yes, thank you. I definitely underestimated the ability of this place to hang on to the cold,” they said, accepting the mantle with a stiff grin.

It warmed Adrian immediately. As they breathed, the mantle filled their lungs with the thick scent of leather and something else—something individual to the Commander. They bit the inside of their lip to ignore how badly their own body enjoyed the experience of the warmth and scent and gesture. Adrian cursed the traitor that was the flush in their face.

Cullen thought they looked regal and feral all at once. They carried a posture of certainty that the mantle adorned royally, and their mess of hair became a lion’s mane on its own. He noticed the pink tint of their cheeks, and he felt something clench within him. He breathed deeply again, turning to look at the flower he had already memorized.

“You know what the strangest thing has been?” Adrian asked, and continued without waiting for a response, “The face of the moon. Or lack thereof. The craters are all… not wrong, but just drastically different. I’m used to seeing craters that look like a face. A man in the moon,” they chuckled, “but this one… I don’t see a face there, and it is _weird_. And I miss the dawn star—Venus, a planet. Actually, a really bright star on the horizon at dusk _and_ dawn. It was always the brightest to me. You know, we had a star called Polaris, the North Star. It was _supposed_ to be the brightest in the sky, meant to be visible to navigate by, always in the north—you know, _north_ star and all—but honestly, I have never seen it. Never was able to pick it out. It’s so bad. I could find constellations and planets, but not that one most important star. So, I found Venus instead. Zorya, was another name for it.”

Adrian was rambling. They knew they were rambling, filling silence with something safe and manageable. They kept their eyes cast skyward, but their attention was on the Commander, who was uncommonly interested in the spring flowers. What Adrian did not notice was the small smile that made its way across Cullen’s face. He let them fidget and ramble, learning things about an alien world he would never have thought to even ask. He bit his tongue, and Adrian eventually faded to an awkward cough.

He turned to them with a sarcastic grin, “Leliana must have you marked as an utter liability.”

Adrian narrowed their eyes, opening their mouth for a scathing retort, before seeing the humor in this look.

“Fine,” they declared haughtily, “I will never tell you anything again.”

“Is that a promise?” he asked.

Adrian shot him a deadly look. Cullen laughed. The tension he had felt in himself before had slipped away, and sleep began to tempt him once again.

“I will leave you to your, ah, explorations,” he said softly, glancing up at the sky.

He bowed slightly, “Inquisitor.”

Adrian nodded in return, automatically because his soft tone had stifled their wit.

Cullen removed himself from the courtyard, fully aware that he had left his mantle draped across Adrian’s shoulders. It left him with a sense of satisfaction that he was reluctant to interrogate.

Adrian noticed far too late, themself struggling with their own sense of denial. Their heart had begun to pound as they realized that the mantle was still snug around them. Until, of course, Adrian began to consider how long they could keep it before the Commander got _too_ irritated.

“What’s next, the class ring?” Thea teased.

Adrian scrunched up their face in a childish mockery.

“I was _cold,_ Thea.”

Thea gave them a blank look.

“I was! I certainly didn’t _ask_ for it.”

The mantle was folded on the tea table in the Inquisitors’ common room. Thea had not moved from their position on the couch in front of the fire.

“I didn’t say you did,” she murmured into her teacup.

Adrian stood in a wide stance by the fire, warming their legs.

“I can’t give it back to him.”

Thea smiled wide, eagerly asking, “Where are we going to hide it?”

Adrian pursed their lips.

“No, I have to return it, but I don’t want to _give_ it back.”

Thea grumbled. Adrian snapped their fingers.

“I have an idea.”

They watched Thea’s eyes narrow. Adrian sidled over to sit lightly on the couch next to her. Casually, with their arm resting on the back of the couch, Adrian examined their fingers.

“You’re so good at sneaking around,” Adrian said.

Thea breathed out heavily, setting her teacup on the table.

“I mean, like you’re _really_ good at stealthing. And I could never pick a lock like you. Such surgical precision.”

Thea clasped her hands in her lap, and just as casually, stated, “I really am. It’s too bad I’m not going to sneak that mantle back to him for you.”

“Thea!”

She giggled, “No.”

“Please!”

Another laugh, “… No.”

“Please? Please. Please, please! Please. Please? Please!”

Thea picked up her tea again, sipping it while delightedly shaking her head.

Adrian pursed their lips again, glaring.

They offered, “What would it take?”

Thea regarded Adrian, who steeled themself for a high price.

“Did you like it?” Thea asked.

“The mantle? I mean, yeah, it’s warm, it’s nice. You know.”

“No,” Thea drew out the words, “Did you _like it_?”

Adrian glared.

Thea sipped loudly, keeping her eyes innocently wide.

Adrian burst out, “You _know_ I liked it! Dammit!”

Thea threw back her head and laughed.

“Did he kiiiiiiiiiiiss you?” she teased.

Adrian looked like she had slapped them.

“No!”

Thea waited.

“He did _not_! Stop! He would never!”

“Do you waaaaaant him to?”

“No.”

“Wow, you’re really good at lying. Regular Nixon, over here.”

“What do the betting odds say?”

Thea grimaced.

“Odds are good. Romance is no longer the underdog. Now it’s just down to timing.”

“I’m going to ruin your accounting.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Adrian sighed.

Quietly, they said, “He would never.”

Thea smiled warmly, “You don’t know that.”

Adrian stayed quiet, staring into the fire.

“Can we taunt him about it?”

Adrian grinned.

“Absolutely.”

The Commander descended the ladder from his sleeping area to his office. He paused by his desk. His mantle had been placed atop the mess of papers with a neatly folded note on top. Cullen opened the note to a small, intricate, pale spring flower placed over a single line in handwriting he recognized as belonging to Inquisitor Thea:

_They are crested iris, and Adrian loves them._


End file.
